Gold Medal T-Shirt
by SLimac
Summary: Emma is an Olympic swimmer at her last games. Killian, her boyfriend and fellow Olympian, is at the pool to watch her race for a medal. But what Emma doesn't know is that Killian got crafty to suprise her afterwards. Two-shot.
1. Gold Medal T-Shirt

No one spoke in the ready room. The only noises were the dull roar of the crowd outside the room on the pool deck stands, watching the race and the patter of nervous feet behind her, bouncing up and down. Tucked inside her long jacket Emma was warm, a necessary evil to keep her body ready, chin down the neck with her mouth worrying at the zipper. It was the only sign of anxiety she showed.

She was determined not to show nerves. Not when her rivals stood mere feet behind her. Not when there was a camera in her face broadcasting her to the entire country. Wearing the stars and stripes, especially since it was her wearing them, made the reporters pay closer attention and it was just a lot. Not for the first time Emma was thankful for the polarized lenses of her googles.

This wasn't Emma's first Olympics. Not by a long shot. She'd done two before, her first at sixteen in Bejing and then London. Her ability to act completely unfazed, completely blank, had earned her the nickname of Iceberg, right from her first race in China. Not because she was big, Emma was actually small for a swimmer. But because people thought she was made of ice.

This wasn't her first Olympics. But it was going to be her last.

Emma was twenty-four. Not the oldest in the circuit by far. But she was done fighting constantly. Done of competing for survival in every aspect of her life. Going into her first Olympics Emma hadn't thought she'd quit until her body had completely given out of her. Because swimming was the only thing she'd ever had.

Everyone knew the story. How Emma had grown up in the foster care system, swimming at the local gyms during free swims until she was adopted at age ten by Ingrid Arendelle. Ingrid recognized her love for swimming and her talent and enrolled her in proper swimming immediately after the adoption went through. Six years later she swam on the world stage with Ingrid watching and took a bronze medal in the two-hundred-meter butterfly. It was the first moment Emma had truly felt safe in her adoption with Ingrid. Emma had been given back once by the Swans, she always believed it could happen again. But standing on the podium, eyes finding Ingrid's in the stand beside the pool deck, she knew she'd made her mother proud and was safe. Emma had gone for two years to Boston University while she trained for London before it became a decision of pursuing her education while swimming or pursuing a greater Olympic dream because she still made just a mediocre showing considering her talent- just two bronze medals. So Emma had quit university, supported by Ingrid like always, and started swimming full time.

Each competition she won more and more. This year alone, Emma had won the 200 butterfly at the Pan Am games, Olympic trials and then again at the Worlds. She'd silver medaled in the 100 butterfly at Olympic trials. This Olympics was to be the competition of a lifetime for her. Emma had four individual races and one relay and she was expected to come back to the United States with at least three medals. She'd already come in second in her 200 butterfly semi to get her to the final, holding back just enough to get there without exhausting herself.

People were surprised that Emma was going out at her peak. But they didn't get that she no longer was just surviving.

Now Emma had more than swimming. Now she wanted a life.

Emma had a mother who went to all the competitions she swam at. Who always had big and obnoxious signs and flags so Emma could always find her in the stands after a race. Who had moved to Boston to be near Emma as she trained, even though Emma no longer lived at home at that point. It was overwhelming to have Ingrid after ten years with nothing. And that wasn't even all Emma had.

Emma also had Killian Jones. Their story was all over the sports magazines because it wasn't just Emma the sport world was watching. It was also Killian who was an Olympic sailor in the laser dingy division. 'The Darlings of the American Team' _Sports Illustrated_ called them when they photographed them together for their Olympic issue.

Killian and Emma had met while in London. Two weeks before the Olympics Emma had been exploring the city and stumbled upon a sailing club, drawn to the water as usual. After seeing Killian capsize in his small dingy she jumped in, thinking she was saving him from drowning. Of course, she hadn't known he was actually an Olympian himself and could easily flip his boat and climb back in. That had been an embarrassing mistake on Emma's part, dragging herself soaking wet onto shore while Killian, also drenched, sailed in, laughing at her reaction. They'd gone to each others events after that, not really making any more moves than that. Emma was still wary of outsiders and Killian had just gotten out of a shitty relationship. After the Olympics they went back to their respective countries, Emma with her two bronze and Killian with a silver in the laser. And Emma thought that was the end, the last time she'd ever see the handsome sailor with the lilting accent and the eyes bluer than the water he sailed in.

Until four months later when Killian's brother died and Killian, needing to escape the memories, had taken advantage of his duel citizenship and come to the United States. Killian had shown up late one night at her door with no warning, no where else to go, clearly distressed. Emma had let him in and listened late into the night as Killian explained what had happened. It had taken another year after that for them to be comfortable enough, Emma with the idea of allowing another person in her heart and Killian healing from losing his only family, to start dating. That was three years prior.

And now he was out in the stands next to Ingrid, waiting for her to race. Maybe he had a stupid sign too.

There was movement in the door of the ready room and Emma looked up to see the official come in to let them know that it was alright for them to enter the deck. One by one as it was a final. Emma was in lane five which meant she was introduced towards the end. The Japanese Swimmer went out first, followed a few moments later by the South African. It went like that until it was just Emma and the first place semi-final finisher in the ready room, an Australian named Regina Mills, though who Emma liked to call the Bitchstroker. They didn't look at each other. Didn't speak to each other but Emma was pretty sure that if they were ever left alone in the pool together Regina would try to drown her.

"Emma Swan, USA."

A cry went up and Emma, sucking in a deep breath, left the ready room and walked out onto the pool deck. She didn't look up at the crowd. Didn't try to find Ingrid and Killian. It wasn't time yet. Now she had to focus. Two hundred meters was all that stood between her and her first gold medal ever. Or complete defeat. She needed to pour everything into this two hundred meters or the second option would come true.

The cameraman buzzed around her again as she pulled off her jacket and slipped her pants down her toned legs, throwing both into the little plastic box by her chair. Ignoring him Emma checked over her block, securing it into place and then scooped some of the cool water from the pool out, splashing it across her bathing suit.

Three measured steps and she was back in her chair. Three deep breaths, in and out at a speed to match every press of her foot as she crossed the tiled deck. A press of her goggles to make sure they were tight against her face. A slap to each arm. Warm, she needed her muscles to stay warm.

A couple quick blasts and Emma was standing again. Time to go. Everything seemed to slow down. Emma could feel each muscle twist, each time there was a tightening and loosening of the fibers. Another blast and Emma stepped up onto her block. The texture of the block surface ground her and the deep voice of the official instructing the swimmers to prepare for the start excited her. She bent into her position.

This was what she'd trained for.

This was what all the years of pain and rehab and frustration and sweat was for. The victories and losses. The close calls and the runaway finishes.

This was it.

The shot went off and Emma sprung from the board, the water swallowing her as she dove in. Her legs exploded in a few dolphin kicks before she burst through the surface at the 15-meter mark. Air filled her lungs before she went under again.

Kick.

Surface.

Arms circling.

In and out.

The wall quickly approached. Emma flipped into her turn, feet pressing on the wall and pushing her off.

There was nothing but the rhythm. But the muscle memory that had her arms confidently turning. Every time she surfaced she heard the crowd roaring, cheering on their favourites. Emma wasn't particularly sure what order everyone was in. She could feel Regina moving the water beside her but that was it.

One hundred meters in and Regina was keeping pace with her. Matching Emma's progress, stroke for stroke. Regina cut through the water like magic, as if it were effortless. There was a lot left in Regina's tank. Everything would pour out soon and Emma had to be ready.

The final turn. Emma flipped and kicked off the wall as hard as she could. This was the closing. The make or break. Fifty meters to go.

 _A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets._

Killian's words filtered into Emma's mind. It was something his brother used to say to him and quickly became something that Killian would say to Emma whenever her muscles ached and she felt like quitting.

Killian and Ingrid were watching, counting on her. This was her last 200 butterfly race ever. She wanted the first finish.

 _Come on Emma, fight. Turn and burn_ as Ingrid would say.

Her feet started to kick harder.

Her arms pulled longer and stronger.

Her lungs burned.

Her body ached.

Faster.

 _Faster._

She was at the five-meter mark.

Counting her strokes, she kicked once more, hard, and swung her arm long, her fingertips grazing the cement wall of the pool. Done.

Emma surfaced, gasping, treading water and spitting out into the pool. Regina was right with her, both of them waiting as they were joined by the rest of the racers. The crowd was screaming.

Emma glanced up at the clock, pulling her goggles off.

 _Emma Swan 2:01.25_

 _Regina Mills 2:01.27_

First.

Gold.

She'd won.

She'd _won._

Emma launched herself out of the water with a quick kick, her pleasure breaking through her usual façade as she whooped in glee. But the celebration wasn't right, yet.

Killian. She wanted to see Killian.

Emma turned to the crowd, eyes scanning until she saw someone dashing down the stairs to the wall that lifted the crowd above the deck. The dark hair gave him away. Killian was trying to get as close to her as he could. Shouting and smiling.

Emma jumped out of the pool and ran at the wall, climbing up through the journalist pit. The photographers moved aside, grumbling and trying to protect their equipment from her dripping body. Killian met her at the wall just as Emma jumped up on one of the abandoned chairs, reaching upwards.

Killian, always knowing what she wanted, caught her hands and towed her upwards, into the crowd and his arms. Emma scrambled with her bare feet against the wall to help him before she climbed over the top gate and was fully with Killian.

"You did it, love!" he shouted into her ear as she held on to his neck, kissing his stubbled cheeks frantically.

"I got the gold!" Emma was crying now, relief coming out in the form of salt water. The crowd surged around them but Killian kept her safe in his arms despite her frantic wiggling and kissing.

"I know. I saw. You did so good!" Killian spun her around. Killian kissed her hard before setting her down. They pulled apart a bit and Emma noticed the tears in Killian's own eyes. Killian coughed, clearing his throat before motioning to his t-shirt.

Killian had forgone his athletic clothing, in favour of a homemade t-shirt. Because of course he would wear something goofy to help support her. The t-shirt was white with an iron-on picture of her face, the one that was on her Olympic profile, and above it was written _Emma Swan, now that you have your own gold, will you wear mine?_ Emma glanced at him, both blown away that he'd assumed she'd win well before she raced and also confused as to what he was getting at.

With a grin Killian bent down on one knee and pulled a little velvet box from his pocket. Emma's hands went to her mouth as a hush fell over the crowd. Everyone was watching them. Killian opened the box to reveal a familiar gold ring with red stone. Liam's ring.

"What do you say, love? Will this go well with the medal?"

All Emma could do was nod.

The rest of their celebration was cut short as the officials ushered her back from the stands to the medal ceremony. But Emma couldn't find it in herself to mind. Not when she now had two new pieces of gold and a fiancé screaming along to the anthem as their shared flag rose above the pool.

And especially not when she had to figure out where to find the material to make her own t-shirt for Killian's race the next day.


	2. Emma's Gold Medal Response

_A/N:_ Okay, so I lied and wrote a second part. But now this story's really done. Enjoy!

Emma had to miss Killian's race the day after her own. It wasn't a big deal because in a laser dingy regatta they raced ten times before the final. There was just no way Emma could get out of all the TV interviews the networks wanted after her gold medal win. It meant more attention and potentially help with attracting students as she planned to transition into coaching as soon as the games were done. Killian recognized that and had actually been the one who ended up successfully convincing her to go get interviewed instead of making the journey to the regatta.

Of course there had been more questions about her reaction to winning, climbing into the crowd to be with Killian and the following proposal, than her race. The camera men wanted to see the ring she now wore. Interviewers wanted to know when they would hold their wedding. Who would be invited? Would any of the Olympic swim team come? What about the sailing team? Who did she call first after the proposal? In reality she hadn't had to call anyone since the proposal had been broadcasted across the world. For a private person like Emma, the attention on her personal live rather than her athletic ability was overwhelming and uncomfortable. But when she slipped into bed that night beside Killian, Liam's ring on her finger, she found the prying eyes didn't really matter that much.

Just because Emma had missed the first day of racing after the proposal didn't mean she didn't have a plan to respond with her own t-shirt. But she was going to wait until the final. What she was planning on putting on it would be too much of a distraction for Killian and it would risk his final races.

With the four race days crammed so close to her swimming competitions she only made it to two of his races. She knew the camera crews watched her after the races but she was waiting. Killian was making a decent showing but she knew he had more in him and she wouldn't distract him to the point where he'd throw his whole competition. On the day she did make it she was there to watch him capsize, an Italian laser crashing into him and bringing them both down. Her heart was in her throat as the other lasers raced past, her hand fluttering down to rest on her stomach while she held her breath. But a few long moments later Killian surfaced, cursing and angry but safe.

Emma knew Killian was a capable sailor. One of the highest ranked in the world, sitting in third place after the year's circuit but having oscillated through all three top standings since the last Olympics. The capsizing wouldn't ruin his chances as the worst race was dropped before the medal race, so long as he didn't do it again. It had never really bothered Emma when Killian flipped his boat because it had a weird sense of nostalgia to it for her and capsizing lasers was just part of the sport since the boats were so small and light. But now, now things were different. And not just because of the ring she wore on her finger.

That night Emma had been so amped up with the residual stress from the race, her muscles tight and strokes shorter than usual, that she came third, a bronze medal, in the race the world thought she'd be a shoe-in for gold for, the 100m freestyle. When Killian pulled her into bed that night he made her promise not to go see his regatta the next day and concentrate on her final two races, the 4x100 relay and the 100m breast stroke happening the same night. Emma knew Killian had figured out something was up. As an athlete they all knew injury was always possible and had almost become numb to it after so long in the circuit, yet Emma was suddenly terrified to see him get hurt.

If only he knew what Emma was waiting to reveal.

Emma was able to centre herself the next day, sending her mother to the regatta in her place to watch and send her updates on Killian's races through text as Emma prepared for her own two races. The last two races of her career and it was a battle to concentrate through the morning. Especially when she kept pulling out that homemade t-shirt tucked in the bottom of her swim bag, away from Killian's prying blue eyes.

Because of his medal race the next day Killian couldn't make it to her last races. It killed Killian to have to miss them but honestly, Emma preferred him to stay at the Athletic Village because that way she wouldn't be distracted by Killian and her swirling thoughts. Without him there she could be an Olympian only, force herself to compartmentalize like she used to do as a younger, harder child. It was a skill she hadn't used in a while but it was one she found she was still good at, completely sobering to full Iceberg mode. Just like riding a bike.

That night Emma went back to the American House in the Atheletes Village with two more medals. A silver with the 100m breast stroke and a gold with the relay, the American team loaded with world record holders like Ledecky. A feeling of sadness hung over her, like the kind that followed saying goodbye to a best friend. Swimming had been her life for so long. Had been the one joy she had during her foster care years. Emma had seven Olympic medals to show for it, the two golds, silver and bronze from this Olympics soon to join the three bronze from her previous two Olympics on the trophy shelf in her living room. But it still felt strange to see all those years and emotions boiled down into the medals hanging from her neck. She wasn't quite sure how to say goodbye to the sport and perhaps that was why she was going immediately into coaching, at least for a little while before she would be forced to take a break. But Emma couldn't be sad for too long, not when Killian met her at the door to the house wearing that silly t-shirt once again and kissing her soundly.

"Congratulations, love," he murmured, kissing her cheek before letting her go. "I watched your race on the TV."

"You're supposed to be asleep," Emma answered, hand sliding down his toned arm to entangle with his own and dragging him inside the large house.

"I couldn't sleep without my fiancée."

Emma rolled her eyes good naturedly. "Well, she's here now. So, go get ready for bed."

Emma didn't sleep much that night. She was too wound up. Too worried about how the next day would go. She hadn't even told Ingrid what was on the shirt she was planning to wear. What if Killian didn't win? Or what if he got a silver and not a gold medal and the writing of the shirt would just be a reminder of his placing?

Guilt at those thoughts coursed through her, tightening her chest and making her eyes sting behind her closed lids. Killian had never doubted her. Killian had never doubted her ability even though she went into the final in second place. Killian had never waved once. But Emma had grown up constantly expecting the worst. Hell, she'd expected Ingrid to give her back for the first six years after the adoption. Sometimes she just couldn't help the thoughts. There was no way to stop them and they so often pulled her under.

The only one who could pull her back was Killian. Emma had no idea what she would do without Killian. She rolled over in bed and buried into his chest, her nose finding that spot she loved between his strong pectoral muscles. Killian's arms came around her, noticing her increased closeness even in his sleep, and held her tight.

Emma decided then that she was making the right decision telling him her surprise tomorrow.

She had to trust that he would pull through.

Killian had the skill.

Killian had the heart.

It would come together. Emma just had to have faith.

If only that wasn't so hard for her.

Killian left before Emma did the next morning to go and get everything ready at the course. Emma took her time waking up, stretching her sore muscles and rolling her back up as she sat, vertebrae cracking. She had four hours before the regatta and had been talked into giving an interview with the rest of the relay team prior to the competition. Emma had already denied any other interviews though because she was determined to make it to the regatta on time.

Emma dressed, pulling on that secret t-shirt that she'd made a few days before, and covered it up with her American team sweater so no one could see. Emma was nervous about what she was about to do. She knew it was risky to reveal it, especially to the whole world, at this point. But Emma was healthy and strong. For once in her life she had to trust that everything was okay. Believing that anything else was going to happen was just too heartbreaking to imagine. Things would be okay. They had each other. They would always be okay. With a final nod to convince herself Emma left the dorm room and went to go find her relay teammates for their interview.

And of course, at the end of the interview, the attention turned once again to Emma's personal life.

"So, Emma, your fiancé Killian's medal race is in just a few hours." Emma nodded, trying to smile for the camera and not show how nervous she was. "I think everyone is wondering; will we see a similar reaction from you as we saw from Killian?"

Emma's teammates turned to her as did all the crew. No one knew her plans except for maybe the helpful checkout lady who'd rung up her supplies and saw the picture she'd scanned at the store's printing facility. But Emma was pretty sure the lady had no idea who Emma was. Emma had to twist her fingers around the microphone to stop from playing with the zipper of her sweater. "I guess you'll just have to watch and see," Emma answered with a light shrug. The interviewer grinned, clearly delighted with her coy answer and closed the segment.

"Are you going now to watch the regatta?" the interviewer, a tiny blonde woman with a gigantic bun on her head, asked.

Emma nodded. "I am. I hate to run but I've got to go if I'm going to be there on time."

"Good luck," she quipped back, a mischievous grin. "We'll be watching."

Emma gave another tense nod and practically ran out of the room. She had an hour now to make it to the regatta location. Ingrid would be waiting for her, having already staked out a claim on the hill overlooking the water. Hopefully she'd gotten as close to the race as possible.

Sitting in the cab on the way to the regatta Emma couldn't help but give into the nervous tick and play with the zipper on her sweater. The shirt had turned out good and Emma was thankful she'd saved the picture she used for it on her phone before leaving for Brazil. She was also thankful that Rio was a city so it was easy to find the supplies she needed to make her own shirt at the last minute.

This plan had to work out. It just had to.

Heads turned constantly as Emma made her way through the spectators, people recognizing that she was the fiancée of the man who'd been so happy of her gold and pulled her into the stands with just his brute strength and overwhelming joy. Emma tried to ignore them, feeling the emotions that had become so much stronger over the past month welling up inside of her. If she got upset now she'd want to run and hide because of her pride and Killian needed her to be present.

Eventually, right at the front of the fenced off spectator area, Emma spotted Ingrid's blonde head. Her mother was wearing a t-shirt that made from an American flag. At her feet was a rolled up piece of poster board and in her hands was another.

"Hey," Emma greeted, coming up behind her mother. Ingrid turned to her with a warm smile. The sign in her hands read _My Son-in-Law is Going to Win!_ Emma snorted at it, not missing the places that were a bit textured from where she'd pulled off the glittery letter stickers that looked like they'd once spelled _Killian_ and replaced them with Killian's new title.

"How are you?" Ingrid asked, handing Emma the sign at her feet. Emma unrolled it. Ingrid had once again made a stellar American themed poster. The glitter stickers were all in red, white and blue and there was even a shoddy bald eagle drawn in one corner to look like he was placing the first letter of _My Fiancé Will Blow You All Out of the Water!_ but was actually covering more of the sticker removal texture. "You look tired."

Emma shrugged at her mother. "I am. Didn't sleep last night."

"The interviewers are stressing you out aren't they?" It wasn't hard for Ingrid to guess that Emma hated people digging into her life. All Emma thought the interviewers needed to know were her times in the water. There was no reason for them to need to know whether Emma was planning a spring or a fall wedding. She'd been engaged for less than a week but she'd been swimming for years. It had taken Emma years to get used to interviewers prying in her swimming business. She had no desire to force herself to get used to them asking about her romantic life when she'd only be in the spotlight until after the closing ceremonies.

"They are so nosy," Emma answered, crinkling her nose in distaste. Ingrid gave her a long look, as if she suspected Emma wasn't giving the whole answer. Turning her head from her mother's scrutinization lest she spill her surprise, Emma watched as the boats started to line up.

The lasers had to get to a certain point in the water before the countdown but not pass the line made between two boats until the gun went off, signalling the start of the race. The course was set up along a stretch of water and involved several turns around big yellow buoys before a final sprint to where a third boat was set up just to the side. A few safety boats, the rubber hulled coast guard type, milled around the lasers. Killian's boat was visible, jostling right up to the line with the ten other lasers, the American flag big on his sail.

The leader of the race at this point had 15 points. Killian was going in with 16, the third position back at 22. As in the medal race the points went up to double, so as long as Killian came one position ahead of the Greek leader he'd come out with a lower point value and win the competition. The surf wasn't too bad, the sky just mildly overcast. It was conditions Killian was used to considering first training in London then in Boston. So long as he concentrated and didn't capsize he should have a decent race. The question was how decent.

The official's gun went off and the ships took off, the sailors letting out their sails to catch the wind, rather than trying to restrain the lasers like race horses in the starting block. Boats moved around each other, the sailors leaning hard off the washboards of the laser to get them to move with their body weight.

Killian was a bit reckless when it came to leaning, often training with the balance just teetering on the too much level to see how fast he could turn. It was why he'd ended up in the water that first day Emma had met him. Killian liked to call himself a rapscallion instead of reckless but with her stress running high and watching Killian lean hard to get around a boat from Cyprus Emma just thought he was stupid.

The race was the longest fifty minutes Emma could remember ever having to live through. She cheered right along with Ingrid but she wasn't sure how she was able to as she was constantly forgetting to breathe. Every time the boats came close to each other she found herself bouncing on her toes to see better, scrunching up her face in panic. Ingrid kept glancing at her with her eyebrows drawn down, noticing the difference in Emma's composure from when she usually watched races. Emma was glad she was revealing the surprise today because if she had to make it through another race with her emotions uncontrolled like they were she was going to explode.

The last turn of the race before the sprint came down to the top two and the fourth place racer, all three battling to get the inside lane around the buoy. The points leader made it around the buoy first, Killian keeping pace despite being forced into the outside lane. With the two boats even as they were at the start of the sprint, and considering the direction of the wind, the leader's laser was getting the most wind, his sail blocking Killian's. There was no way Killian was going to be able to keep up like that and he needed a first place finish for the gold. But he couldn't just turn regularly to get around the leader and get the wind. It would take too much precious time.

Emma knew what Killian was going to do before he did it.

Killian wrenched on the rudder, turning it hard and dove across the boat to shift the weight. The laser turned on it's stern as if it were a motorbike doing a trick on it's back wheel and zipped behind the lead boat.

Killian dove the opposite way, back to where he'd been previously, causing it to make another harsh spin to even it out and get the boat back on the straight sprint. The laser rocked precariously and water splashed high over the sides, soaking Killian.

Now, just a foot behind the leader Killian let all the slack out of the rope coiled around his hand, giving the sail everything, as if giving a horse it's head to run. It was reckless, giving the laser, with it's easily tippable base, that much sail. It would tip if it were trying to get around a corner or if it were hit. But Killian needed the speed.

The announcer was screaming over the loudspeaker, in complete disbelief of the ridiculous turn Killian had just made. Even if he didn't get the gold, the move would go on the highlight reel of Sportsnet the next day. People usually weren't that ballsy when it came to the easily tipped lasers, especially in an Olympic medal race.

The two lasers were so close together and so close to the finish line.

Ingrid jumped up and down, waving her ridiculous sign around and getting it in Emma's view so she had to step away, moving through the crowd and keeping pace with Killian's laser. She wanted- needed- to be directly in line with the finish so she could see who crosses first.

Emma couldn't breathe.

Mere inches separated the tip of the lasers' bows.

But Killian had the wind.

Killian always knew how to find the wind, like some sort of 18th Century pirate.

Emma came up parallel to the line, arms wrapped around her midsection causing the poster to bump against her legs, eyes straining to see the lasers better.

Two feet until the finish line.

The bows close together, no distance between them.

And then, one gust of wind.

One laser crossed the line.

Killian's.

Emma started screaming and cheering. She threw the poster somewhere behind her, jumping up and down. Killian had won by one point, 18 to the silver medalist's 19. All she wanted to do is leap into the water and swim out to Killian's boat but she couldn't. The water wasn't safe for swimming and Emma had her health to worry about. Plus, the security would be pissed if she pulled that kind of stunt, even if the media would have loved it.

Killian turned his boat towards the warf and Emma followed, walking slow enough that she'd reach the warf at the same time Killian did and also not make the security too jumpy or the camera crews too curious. She slipped under the rope that corralled the spectators together, the crowds and cameras at her back. Which was what she wanted. A private moment with Killian before the world descended on them.

As her sneakered feet stepped onto the warf she started to unzip her sweater, letting it slide down her arms and fall to the ground. Killian, grinning, hopped out of his laser, and met her just as the soft fabric pooled around her feet. Killian's eyes didn't leave her own and even Emma found herself getting distracted from what she was supposed to say.

"Congratulations Mr. Gold Medal winner," Emma greeted as he swept her up in a crushing hug. His wet body pressed dampness through her shirt, which he hadn't noticed yet. Coaches and techs watched from their spots by the water as they pull in the lasers, the other competitors giving the couple space but still curious. Eventually when Killian kissed her so soundly to the point where she could no longer breathe and her cheeks were hot with a blush, Emma pulled back and coughed.

"Do you think we can get a third gold medal made?" she asked, the tears she'd barely held back all race pooling in her eyes. "Like a mini one?"

Killian raised a single brow before catching on that she was not wearing an athletic uniform shirt and looked down. Emma pressed her lips together, waiting, as Killian stared dumbfounded. Not sure what to make of the shirt. Or the picture on it.

A sonogram.

A picture of a baby.

Their baby.

The words _My daddy is an Olympic gold medal pirate_ were written near the neckline in Emma's shaky handwriting, the magic marker ink bleeding a bit through the cheap cotton. But it didn't matter. Not when Killian's eyes were getting bright with wetness and he was still looking at her like she had hung the moon for him.

"What?" he stuttered out. "How?"

"Three months ago," Emma answered, voice rocky with her own emotion. "When we got a bit too stupid that night after the Sports Illustrated shoot. I'd missed a couple of birth control pills due to all the travelling for the Olympic trials and, um, oops?" She raised her hands and shrugged, trying to inject some levity into the situation.

"When did you find out?"

"The day before we left for here. I threw up a few times over the last two weeks but I thought it was because I was pushing myself harder in the pool. But coach sent me for a physical anyways and the doctor told me and sent me straight to the OBGYN to make sure I'd be okay to swim." Emma chewed on her lip, waiting for Killian to do something other than stare at her. "Are you mad? I thought this might be a fun way to surprise you after what you did my first race. I'm sorry if I upset you."

Killian fell to his knees in front of her, face pressing against her belly and arms going around her waist, pulling her close. "Of course I'm not mad, my love. Just surprised," he answered, sliding his face upwards so he could lean back and see her properly from his position at her feet. "You know I wanted children. Did I think we'd get married first? Sure. But this is perfect." Killian turned back to her abdomen, lips so close to her belly that she could feel the pressure of them moving through her shirt as he spoke. "You're perfect my little lad or lass. You'll be an Olympian too, just like your mother and me. What sport? Maybe gymnastics? Or a swimmer like your beautiful mother? Or a sailor like me?" Killian laughed, a disbelieving wet sound that made a happy gasping sob slip from Emma's own lips. "Just don't pick a winter sport," Killian continued on, as if he were now revealing a great secret. "We can't beat the Canadians and we want a medal for you."

"Killian," Emma admonished with a laugh, swatting at his head.

Killian laughed too and stood, groaning a bit as his muscles stretched from their crouched position, her discarded sweater in his hand. "Honestly love, I don't care if the baby decides he or she wants to spend time crocheting hats for dolphins, so long as they're healthy and happy. You're healthy, right?"

Emma nodded. "I'm fine. Doctor said not to worry since I've barely gotten through my first trimester and I'm retired now anyways."

Killian swooped forward and planted a quick kiss on her lips before pulling back. "And happy?"

Emma nodded again. "Very." She took the sweater, slipping it on so she could hold Killian's hand and allowed him to lead her off the warf and into the waiting crowd. "But I think this means we're going to have to make a onesie now to complete the Olympic set."


End file.
